What You Want Most
by MadameAngel
Summary: Set during DMC, en route to La Isla Cruces. Chapter 1 from Jack Sparrow's POV, and Chapter 2 from James Norrington's POV. SLASH. Don't like, don't read. Please review! At this point, I'm unsure if I will continue. Let me know what you think! Love.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Well, this is the first really slashy thing I've ever written… I had 5 uninterrupted hours at work today – more or less – and this had been spinning around in my head for days, so I figured I ought to just do it. I'm also wondering if I should write the same story again from James' perspective? Let me know what you think in the reviews.

**Disclaimer:** I, unfortunately, do _not_ own PotC, or Jack Sparrow… Ooh, but if I did… Well, I won't go in to details. ;)

**THE THING YOU WANT MOST**

Looking out over the sea and up at the fading stars, you know it will be morning soon. Your beloved Pearl creaks slightly in the wind, and some crewmember snores very loudly below decks. Probably one of the new men you picked up in Tortuga last night, as no one snored on your ship before they got here.

And speaking of the new men… You're not sure what possessed you to do it. Then again, most of last night is a little fuzzy. Must have been the rum… except you didn't drink any. But how could _you_, Captain Jack Sparrow, Lord of the Caribbean Sea, hire _him_, a former officer for the Royal Navy? Only two moments really stand out in your memory of last night: The first instant he arrived at Gibbs' table, his low voice sliding like honey over those first two words, "My story." And then, moments later, when you stared down the barrel of his pistol and he asked, "Should I just kill you now?" and a shiver went up your spine at his voice. It was cold, like the honey had frozen solid. Out of self-preservation, mostly, you'd hired him. That, and you needed his soul to save your own. But he'd merely smirked, his green eyes glittering, and said, "Sorry. Old habits and all that."

Looking back, you're very thankful for those two new recruits who stopped him from shooting you because you didn't have the will to move at the time. Something in James' eyes –

_James?!_ Where had _that_ come from? He is Norrington, or "former Commodore" if anything.

A crash from below makes you jump, and you hear several angry voices yelling at one of the newcomers to get out and let them sleep. You can swear that Pintel and Ragetti are among them. You smile, remembering how many times those two almost got themselves killed for arguing all night when they first joined the crew. You hear footsteps stumbling around, and hurry to put your vest, belts, coat, and hat all on before whoever he is gets out on deck. As Captain, you make it a point to always appear your best before your crew, even if you aren't feeling it.

You place your hat on your head and wrap your fingers around the ship's wheel just as dawn breaks over the ocean. You sigh, strangely annoyed that the long silent lonely night is over. Usually it's all you can do to stay awake when you take the watch. Now you must wake Elizabeth so that she can open _your_ compass (_stupid) _to make sure you stayed on the correct bearing during the night. You tie off the wheel and head down the stairs.

The sight of James Norrington, shirt, coat, and boots in hand, stops you in your tracks. The golden-pink of the morning sun illuminates every tangled hair on his head, throws into sharp relief the muscles on his bare stomach and chest, and the one long scar on his abdomen. His eyes glitter like emeralds, or maybe jade, as he glares at you. It takes you half an instant to recover, and you glare right back.

"Ah, Norringtom, I was just coming to wake you for your duties," you try to sneer.

"Here I stand," he says sarcastically. "How convenient."

"Worried I'd come push you out of bed?" you say with a failed attempt at your usual bravado.

"No, your crew did enough of that already," he says. Your eyes dart to his shoulder, where a bruise is forming. A strange pang shudders through you, and you blink a few times to clear your head. But it won't be cleared, and the sunlight on James' body isn't helping.

Unable to trust your voice, you cast your eyes around for something for the former Commodore to do. On the deck near him, you spot a bucket and a rag. Striding over, you pick them up and shove them against James' chest. His arms flail around, trying to keep a hold on the bucket and all of his clothes. Three of your fingers brush his left arm as you let go.

"Get dressed and get to work," you hiss, before escaping into the cool darkness of the ship's cabin.

In the first mate's quarters, which Gibbs had graciously offered her, Elizabeth snores lightly. You gaze at her sleeping form longer than you should, troubled that the sight of her does not excite you, as once it did.

The compass rests on the floor, nestled in the pile of cloth that is her vest. Nervously, you pick it up, afraid of what you may see if you open it. Elizabeth stirs.

"Jack? What—" she begins. You put a finger to her lips, feeling the façade slip smoothly into place. Smiling, you dangle the still closed compass before her eyes.

"Come, dearie," you drawl. "Let's make sure we're still on the right bearing to save dear William." _Bloody stupid William._ Before Elizabeth can say a word, you leave, letting the door swing shut behind you.

Standing once again at the helm, you have one eye on Norrington, where he kneels in the bow, scrubbing at the deck, regrettably fully clothed once again, and the other eye on the compass clenched in your fist. You grit your teeth, glaring at that stupid piece of wood and metal and magnets, and slide your thumb over the catch.

"Captain," Elizabeth says loudly, her once-soothing voice grating your nerves like so many razorblades. She's holding out her hand for the compass. You hand it to her, bowing slightly. She opens it, and it points faithfully towards the bow of the ship. For one heart-stopping moment, you think the arrow points to James, but then you realize that all it means is that the ship is still sailing towards Jones' chest, and James just happens to be standing in the way.

"Good," Elizabeth breathes. She closes the compass and walks off towards the bow of the ship. The rest of the crew have come up now and started on their usual morning duties. Cotton and his parrot stand at your shoulder, so you slide over and let him take the helm.

"Stay this course," you say.

"Aye aye, Cap'n," the parrot squawks.

As though drawn by magnet, you walk over to where James and Elizabeth are talking. Your back tightens with jealousy that she can speak with him so easily. On the other hand, you, _Captain Jack Sparrow_, completely lose your mind whenever James opens his mouth. You look up to find the both of them staring at you. James has got one eyebrow raised. You lock your eyes onto Elizabeth's face, forcing yourself not to look at _him_.

"Lizzy, may I speak with you?" you ask. She nods and follows you over to the port railing. "How in the name of the seven seas did you get here? Last I heard, you were in prison, love."

As Lizzy recounts her tale, you pretend to listen while watching James out of the corner of your eye. When she mentions the letters-of-marque, James looks up, and you look away in a hurry. _He can never know_.

"Will was to get these in exchange for your compass," Elizabeth is saying.

"Only one reason for that," Gibbs adds.

Without missing a beat, you reply "Of course. He wants the chest." _When did Gibbs get here?_ You can feel James' eyes on you, making it nigh impossible to concentrate on the conversation at hand. You close your eyes, allowing your mind to wander into delicious fantasy for a split-second before coming back to reality.

"If the Company controls the chest, they controls the sea," Gibbs is saying.

"A truly discomforting notion, love," you say, trying to stay in the conversation.

"And bad," Gibbs babbles on. "Bad for every mother's son what calls himself pirate. I think there's a bit more speed to be coaxed from these sails."

You watch him wander off, acutely aware of the fact that James is still watching you and Elizabeth. She's looking vacantly off into the distance. A plan forms in your mind as you look at her. A way, perhaps, to arouse James' jealously, make him want you, and to cool your own arousal for the time being. You take a step towards Elizabeth.

"Might I inquire as to how you came by these?" You smirk when Elizabeth jumps at your closeness.

"Persuasion," she replies.

_This could get interesting,_ you think. "Friendly?"

"Decidedly not," she says snobbishly. Almost as if she's offended, which is amusing.

"Will strikes a deal for these and upholds it with honor, yet you are the one standing here with the prize. 'Full pardon. Commissioned as a privateer on behalf of England and the East India Trading Company.' As if I could be bought for such a low price." You turn away, tucking the letters inside your coat, and Lizzy scoots up against your back.

"Jack, the letters, give them back," she whines, her breath on your neck. It is almost too easy now, to imagine…

"No." You smirk. "Persuade me." Elizabeth scoots impossibly closer.

"You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword," she breathes in your ear.

Your eyes roll back and it's all you can do not to moan at the innuendo. You turn to face her, trying to hide the evidence of your arousal from James' still-watching emerald eyes.

"Like I said, persuade me." Your eyes bore into hers, the muscles in your neck screaming from the effort of keeping it from turning, forcing yourself not to look at him. You find yourself silently begging Elizabeth to concede, to end your torment, to bring you release, if only temporarily. But she merely nods and walks away, leaving you aching and alone. You scurry back to your quarters, slamming the door behind you and throwing the bolt home.

Collapsing against the wood of the door, you let out an animalistic growl. The day has grown unbearably hot, and you tear off your hat and coat, hurling them across the room. A drop of sweat slips down your spine and hides beneath one of your belts. As you struggle to unbuckle them, you realize your hands are trembling. The belts hit the floor with a _thunk_ and are quickly joined by your shirt and vest. In the heat of the day, the wood of the door does little to cool your fevered skin.

A nagging urge surfaces in the back of your mind, but you try to force it away. Never, even in your most dire of circumstances, have you stooped to _that_. "Ah," says a little voice in your mind, remarkably like your own, "but there's a first time for everything, aye?" And you have to agree. You have never been in such a state so far from port. Usually it's the thought of port, of all the beautiful wenches waiting to please you, that arouses you. Never has it been this bad out at sea. You used to think that, out at sea, you were as happy as you could ever be, never wanting anything more. But you know that is not the case anymore. And there _is_ a first time for everything.

You kick off your boots and stumble over to the bed, half blinded by the heat and your lust. James' half-naked, sun-soaked body from this morning swims before your eyes as your trembling fingers fumble over the ties and buttons on your trousers. _God damn you, James Norrington, to the deepest circle of hell_.

You lie on your back, completely naked in the darkness of your cabin. Your hands, for once free of jewelry, rest lightly on your stomach. You take a deep breath, feeling as though there is never enough oxygen in the air, and close your eyes. You imagine James touching you as your own hands roam over your body. He's touching you softly, slowly, at first. Then harder and faster and faster until –

*****

A few minutes later, you open your eyes through a leftover haze of white-hot oblivion. In the silence, you listen to your heartbeat and breathing as they return to normal. Now exhausted, you begin to shiver as your body finally cools. You pull a blanket around your shoulders and slide off into darkness.

*****

When you come to at last, it is dark. Out your window, you can see silver moonlight sparkling on the sea. You stand up slowly, looking down at your naked body. As your eyes adjust to the blackness, you see the evidence of your actions spattered across your stomach. You grab a fistful of blanket and try to scrub it off. Some of it comes off, but most remains obstinately stuck. You shrug and peer around for your trousers and shirt. No sense getting all dressed up in the middle of the night. You make your way barefoot out onto the deck and gaze up at the moon.

"Couldn't sleep, captain?" says an all-too-familiar honeyed voice. You freeze, and then slowly turn on the spot. James stands at the helm, illuminated by the full moon, wearing only his shirt and breeches. His coat is slung over the railing nearby. You shake your head.

"Too much sleep, actually." You're suddenly self-conscious of the thinness of your linen shirt, and pray that James can't see through it. You turn away and meander across the deck to the bow of the ship. A sound reaches your ears. It sounds remotely like boots being dropped to the floor. _Who is dropping their boots?_ you think, your mind still hazy from sleep. After a few moments, you hear quiet footsteps behind you, and the haze evaporates. In the instant before you speak, the night becomes crystal-sharp, and your blood turns to fire in your veins.

"How may I help you, James?" you ask without turning. He leans on the rail, facing you. You notice that he is barefoot, which at least explains the noise you heard.

"Why did you need Elizabeth's help finding the chest? If _you_ want it, why can't your magic compass lead you there?" he asks.

You don't reply. Instead, you glare out at the ocean, feeling your face burn. You know now where the compass would point if you were to open it. He is standing right in front of you.

James guesses the truth. "The compass won't point to the chest, because the chest isn't what you 'want most in this world,' is it, Jack?" Hearing your name on his lips almost undoes you. You look at him. Has he moved closer? A small smile plays around his lips. He holds up your compass. "So what is?"

You look away again, unable to bear the sight of his eyes, pupils dilated fully in the darkness. A breeze blows across the sea, washing James' scent across your face. You breathe it in slowly, savoring every moment. You feel your arousal growing, faster and stronger than this morning. Until now, you wouldn't have believed it possible. For a full minute, neither of you move. Then you turn to face him again.

"What is, Jack?" he whispers again.

_To hell with it._

In the instant before your lips meet his, you see surprise flicker across his face. But then your mouth is on his, your body against his. The hard muscles of his chest mold perfectly to your own. The stubble on his face is surprisingly soft under your fingertips. His lips are chapped from the sun and the heat, and you run your tongue across them. But he is unresponsive. Hurt, staggeringly so, you pull back and stare into his emerald eyes. His face is still frozen in that same mask of surprise.

"James," you whisper, past all pretense and decorum, "Please."

He gazes back at you. And then, so very slowly, the surprise on his face gives way to something else. He drops the compass with a thud. With deliberately devastating slowness, he leans toward you. A million times, you expect to feel his lips against your own, but they still have not met. And then at last, at sweet last, his lips meet yours willingly. He kisses you softly, his fingers roaming over your face, memorizing every inch. You pull the leather string from his hair and it tumbles down onto his shoulders. Your fingers tangle in the soft locks. When he pulls back for air, your lips find their way to that tender spot where his neck meets his shoulder. You kiss him gently, graze his skin with your teeth, then run your tongue up his neck, kissing the underside of his chin. His head is thrown back as he gulps in air. You catch his lower lip between your teeth.

With a wild gasp, he brings his mouth back to yours. You slide your tongue along his lower lip and into his mouth. His hands caress your body, grasping at the hem of your shirt. He pushes it up and over your head, then pulls back to look at you.

He raises an eyebrow at the mess on your stomach, but the smirk vanishes at the sight of the old bullet wounds in your chest, and the scars along your left arm. He doesn't ask where they came from, and doesn't seem to care. But he kisses each wound twice. In the cool night air, his warm mouth sends goose bumps over your skin. With his tongue, he traces the pattern of scars inside your elbow. A haggard moan escapes your lips.

When he comes back up to kiss you, you stop him. "My turn," you whisper. You gather his shirt in your hands and pull it over his head. His chest is nearly flawless, save for that one long, thin scar crossing diagonally from right to left, wrapping around the left side of his waist, and the bruise left from this morning. He arches back against the railing and you gently kiss the entire length of the scar, ending near the middle of his chest. You kiss a delicate trail up his chest and neck. Looking him in the eye, you take his hands and lead him back towards the stern of the ship, to your quarters.

For the second time that night, you close and lock the door. James presses you up against it, kissing you eagerly, his hands cool against your burning flesh. Unable to wait any longer, you start to undo the fastenings on his trousers. His hand on your wrist stops you. You give him a questioning look. His green eyes are infuriatingly innocent.

"How?" he asks.

"You've been a sea captain just as long as I have, mate. You tell me," you reply with a smirk.

"I've never—"

"Never _ever?_" You can't help asking. He glares at you.

"With women, of course. Never with a man."

"Nor I, love. But my men have, and it's not hard to figure." You wink.

James doesn't answer, but he does kiss you again and you take this as consent. You finish unfastening his pants and he steps away.

"Please let me," he says quietly. So you watch hungrily as his pants slide down over his hips and thighs to land in a soft pile on the floor. Your gaze travels slowly up his body to meet his eyes, only pausing in a few select places. He truly is a fine specimen of a man, in every way. But he looks nervous and self-conscious.

"You are beautiful," you say. Your eyes never leave his as you undo your own trousers and slide them down your body. You see James' fear melt away as he looks you over. You kiss him once. "Turn around," you command. He does so. You place your hands on his shoulders and steer him over to the bed. "Kneel." You kiss the bruise on his shoulder before nipping it sharply with your teeth. James gives a small cry and falls forward onto his hands and knees.

"Now, relax," you whisper slowly into his ear. He groans at the feel of your fingers on his hips. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you step forward into white-hot oblivion.

_THE END_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Well, as promised, here is the same story from James Norrington's point of view. Much of the inspiration for this chapter came from a YouTube video by paraparahime, titled 'Sparrington.' Do go check it out, it is wonderful. I've realized that I don't prefer smutty stories, at least not for writing. For me, the climax of the story is not the consummation, but the surrender. Such is how this story will go. Please review! I reply to all of my reviews personally.

**Disclaimer:**__I, unfortunately, do not own PotC, Jack Sparrow, or dear James Norrington. –sigh-

**WHAT YOU WANT MOST**

You're back in Port Royal, your uniform and periwig spotless and clean once again. Standing on the battlements of Fort Charles, you gaze out over the ocean. Everything is still and calm, but you cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. Something is supposed to happen here, but it isn't happening. A noise draws your attention, and you turn. Out of the morning fog walks that _pirate_. He stops before you, his face inches from yours, his filthy fingers brushing your lapel. You find yourself unable to recoil. You can see nothing but his dark eyes as he mumbles, "I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate. Know that." And then he trips, falls, over the wall and into the ocean. You lean over to see where he's gone, but then you're falling too, head over heels, tumbling through space until –

_Crash_.

Dizzily, you look around. It seems you've fallen out of your hammock. Angry voices swirl around you as you struggle to your feet.

"Oi! Git out of 'ere!"

"Can't you see we're tryin' to sleep?"

A boot flies in your direction, narrowly missing your left year and hitting you on the shoulder instead. After a moment of stumbling around in the dark, you gather your clothes in a pile and hurry away from the sleeping pirates. After making sure that your trousers haven't awkwardly loosened while you were asleep, you step out into the morning sunlight.

As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see the captain coming towards you down the stairs. As always, he's wearing every stitch of clothing he owns, looking for all the world like the best pirate on the seas. In fact, he probably believes it himself. And how you hate him for it. If it weren't for him, Elizabeth would be yours, Turner would be holed up safe in his blacksmith shop, and you wouldn't have spent the last thirteen months of your life chasing that stupid pair of brown eyes around the Atlantic. And now you haven't even the authority to arrest him. You glare at him, strangely annoyed and amused that he hasn't yet noticed you standing here.

When he finally sees you, he stops. His face shifts through a series of expressions before settling into a glare that rivals your own.

"Ah, Norrington," he drawls. "I was just coming to wake you for your duties."

"Here I stand. How convenient," you grumble.

"Worried I'd come push you out of bed?" he sneers.

"No, your crew did enough of that already," you say as your shoulder gives a nasty throb. You guess that's it's probably black-and-blue by now, and curse your sensitive skin.

Jack – _the Captain_, has got an odd look on his face, but before you can figure out what it means, he's looking down. He picks up a bucket and a rag and shoves them at you.

"Get dressed and get to work," he says before disappearing inside. You try to juggle your clothes and bucket for a moment before giving up. Dropping the bucket and your boots, you shrug into your shirt and coat. Once you put on your boots, you take the bucket and tie a stray bit of rope to the handle. You toss it overboard and then pull it up again, dripping with seawater.

You lug your bucket to the bow and begin to scrub at the deck, trying in vain to bring it up to military standards. You let your mind rest as your muscles fall into the familiar rhythm of swabbing the decks. But it refuses to do so. As the ship comes to life around you, you reflect on your dream from this morning. It was more or less true to the real events that had happened on that fateful day, but you can't shake it. As you scrub, Jack's dark eyes swim before your vision.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth walks over to you. You stand.

"Good morning, James," she says.

"Miss Swan," you reply.

"I'm sorry for bringing you into this," she says.

"You didn't," you say. "I signed up for Sparrow's crew all on my own."

"I'm still sorry," she says. "I know that you don't want to be here, and if there is any way –" She stops. Jack Sparrow has just walked up, looking thoroughly confused, his dark eyes troubled. You raise an eyebrow.

"Lizzy, may I speak with you?" he asks. _Rather formal for a pirate_, you think. Elizabeth follows Jack a few yards away. You kneel back down and resume your scrubbing until Jack's voice catches your ear. "Last I heard, you were in prison, love." _Prison?_

As you scrub, you try to listen. From what you can gather, Lord Cutler Beckett wants the heart of Davy Jones so he can finally purge the world of pirates. When Elizabeth mentions the reward for helping him, _a full pardon_, your head snaps up. Jack's dark eyes flit from you back to Elizabeth.

You sit back on your heels, completely abandoning your chores to pay closer attention. Gibbs (_that traitor)_ is rambling on about how "bad" it is for Beckett to control the sea, and Jack is eyeing Elizabeth in a very calculating way. Your stomach does a funny turn at the sight of his dark eyes narrowed, staring her down. Gibbs ambles off to do something, and Jack sidles up to Elizabeth, waving the letters of marquee beneath her nose.

"Might I inquire as to how you came by these?" he asks. Elizabeth jumps. As they banter, you can't help but notice an odd emotion building up inside you, but you can't quite place it.

When Elizabeth says, "You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword," you see Jack's eyes flutter closed. In that instant, your mind produces a name for the odd emotion: Jealousy. But why? Are you jealous of Jack for being able to talk so easily with Elizabeth? You remember trying to propose to her, all those months ago. You could barely get a word out. Or are you jealous of Elizabeth for—But you don't even want to think it.

You're startled by Elizabeth walking abruptly past you. You look back at Jack, but he is gone. You get up, your knees protesting, and walk over to Elizabeth. She's blushing and nibbling her lower lip. Jealousy flares up inside you, hot and just as unexplainable as ever. _Answers_, your mind screams, as it always has. This insatiable need to understand everything has plagued you for as long as you can remember, starting many a fight in your youth. Might as well just figure this out now and get it over with.

"It's a curious thing," you say, leaning on the railing beside Elizabeth. "There was a time when I would have given anything for you to look like that while thinking about me." Elizabeth's giddy smile vanishes.

"I don't know what you mean," she says hurriedly.

"Oh, I think you do," you say slowly, smiling.

"Oh, don't be absurd. I trust him, that's all," she snaps.

_Right_, you think, chuckling. You start to walk away, your head spinning. Talking to Elizabeth now is so different than it used to be. The feelings are still there, of course, but this, believing her to be in love with Jack, does not wound you as it did when she left you for Turner. _Turner…_ _Best remind her of him,_ says a little nagging voice at the back of your mind. You turn to face her again.

"So you never wondered how your _latest_ fiancé ended up on the Flying Dutchman in the first place," you say, enjoying the shock that flickers across her face. You smile again, shrug, and return to where your bucket and rag are waiting for you.

The day drags on with interminable slowness. You gradually scrub your way towards the stern. Elizabeth paces around restlessly, and you keep an eye out for Jack, but he remains hidden away, presumably in his cabin. Your hands are busy, but your mind is free to warder. You find yourself dredging up old memories. Grasping Jack's hand for the first time and revealing his status as a pirate. The feel of his arms under your fingertips as you drag him to be arrested on the docks at Port Royal. The sparkle in his eyes as Elizabeth buckles his belt around him and he smirks at you. That sinking feeling in your stomach as you watched him ascend the steps to the gallows. Feeling strangely relieved when he escaped, and you remember Governor Swan's eyes on you. That man always saw too much…

The sun is setting, and the crew begins to prepare the ship for the night. As soon as the sun touches the western horizon, Elizabeth flees into her quarters. You notice that she's left the compass on the stairs. Morbidly curious, you snatch it up before finishing your chores.

"Norrington," says a voice. You turn. Gibbs is walking towards you. "You'll be taking the first watch tonight," he says. You nod, and he claps you on the shoulder. "Good man," he says, and then disappears below decks with the rest of the crew.

In the evening light, the deck gleams amber, and you feel a surge of pride. It looks presentable now, at least. As the sun sinks below the horizon, you hear the crew clattering about in the galley. Someone brings you a hunk of stale bread and a moldy bit of cheese. It looks and smells revolting, but you choke it down anyway.

The night grows dark around you. You hold the ship's wheel firmly in your hands and try not to think about all that happened today. You try to close your mind to all of those memories of Jack Sparrow, to not remember that calculating look he gave Elizabeth, to not wish that it had been you instead.

By the time the full moon rises, the ship is silent. The crew has gone to bed, and there is very little wind. You feel the weight of the compass in your coat pocket, but as curious as you are, you don't want to open it. Yet. You slip out of your coat and drape it over a railing nearby. Someone stirs below decks, and your heart leaps into your throat.

Holding very still, you wait for the someone to come out on to the deck. After a long moment, he appears. It's Jack, looking thoroughly disheveled. He is wearing only his breeches and shirt. Even his hands are free of jewelry, no rings glittering in the moonlight. He walks out onto the deck and stares up at the moon.

"Couldn't sleep, captain?" you say, letting your voice slide over the words. Jack freezes, and then turns to look at you. He shakes his head, setting the beads and trinkets jingling.

"Too much sleep, actually," he says. He looks at you for a moment, and then walks away to the bow of the ship. Your body springs into action, as if you had known all along what you would do. You find the compass in you jacket and flick it open. The arrow points straight ahead, to Jack. You are a little unsettled, but mostly just glad to _finally_ have an answer. Why were you jealous this morning? Why had you _really_ resigned your commission and chased this man all over the sea? Now you know. You hold the proof in your hand. All your life, you have believed in what you can see with your own two eyes, even when you _didn't_ want to. Why falter now, when whether you want to or not isn't even a question?

You kick off your boots and follow Jack, your bare feet making no sound. Before you reach him, he asks, "How may I help you, James?" His voice lingers on your name, sending shivers down your spine. You lean on the rail facing Jack.

"Why did you need Elizabeth's help finding the chest? If _you_ want it, why can't your magic compass lead you there?"

Jack doesn't answer. He glares out over the ocean, but he looks more sad and tormented than angry. You feel a sudden rush of protectiveness. Whatever this is that is hurting him so, it _must_ stop.

"The compass won't point to the chest because the chest isn't what you 'want most in this world,' is it, Jack?" You scoot a few inches closer to him, and smile when he shivers, almost imperceptibly. He looks at you and you dangle the compass in front of his face. "So what is?"

He looks away again, but you know that it is close, so close now. A small breeze blows past you and Jack breathes in deeply, his eyes closing. You don't move, and neither does he, until he looks at you again.

"What is, Jack?" you whisper again. His eyes are nearly all black; the pupils dilated so fully that the brown becomes nothing more than a thin outline. He leans towards you, and your eyebrows raise, but you don't have time to move before he kisses you.

His lips are surprisingly soft, warm against yours. You try to raise your arms to embrace him, but they refuse to cooperate. The feel of his body against yours has paralyzed you, like a pinched nerve. But every single nerve in your body is on fire, none of them pinched or broken, and still your arms will not respond.

Jack pulls away and stares at you, his black eyes reflecting an excruciating agony.

"James," he whispers. "Please." The desperation in his voice echoes your own, and you force your body into motion. The compass slips from your fingers. You slowly lean towards him, your eyes focusing only on his full lips, drawn down in a pout.

You kiss him slowly as your body adjusts. You couldn't move faster if you wanted to. Your fingertips ghost over his face. You wrap your hands in his hair, the beads cold against your fingers. You feel his hands in your hair as you gasp for air. He kisses your neck, grazing it with his teeth, making maddening little circles with his tongue. You arch your neck. The cool night air burns as it roars down your throat, leaving your mouth dry as a desert.

Jack catches your lower lip between his teeth. All at once, your body wakes up. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you clutch him to you. He slides his hot tongue along your lips and into your mouth. He tastes like sugar and salt, rum and sweat, bitter and heady and sweet. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and you push it off of his body.

In the moonlight, a familiar sticky white substance gleams on his stomach. You raise your eyebrow, aroused at the thought of Jack pleasuring himself. _Well, that explains where you were all day_.

Then you notice two bullet scars on his chest, and a web of scars inside his left arm. You don't know where they came from, but whoever did this deserves to die a slow, painful death. You kiss each scar on his chest, and run your tongue over the scars on his arm, feeling each one individually. Jack moans into the night. You move to kiss him again, but he stops you with a hand on your chest.

"My turn," he says. He gathers up your shirt and pulls it over your head, tossing it behind him. You arch your back, leaning over the railing, and he gently kisses the sabre wound on your stomach, all the way up to your neck. His black eyes bore into your own as he leads you to his quarters.

Once there, the fears of being caught that you didn't even know you had disappear. You push Jack up against the door, kissing him hungrily. His skin is feverish under your hands. He starts to undo the fastenings on your pants. You take a hold of his wrist.

He looks at you, confused. But how do you explain that your blood has suddenly turned to ice, that you are terrified, unsure of how to proceed. One word finds its way to your frozen lips.

"How?"

Jack smiles, his black eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "You've been a sea captain long as I have, mate. You tell me."

"I've never—" you begin, but he interrupts you.

"Never _ever_?" he asks incredulously. You glare at him.

"With women, of course. Never with a man," you admit.

"Nor I, love," says Jack, and you take comfort knowing that this is new for him too. "But my men have, an' it's not hard to figure." He winks. You merely kiss him again, and he finishes unfastening your trousers. You step away.

"Please let me." You don't look at him as you slide your trousers down over your hips and legs. The fabric is rustling too loudly in the darkness. Jack looks you over, and you are suddenly afraid that he won't find you attractive anymore.

"You are beautiful," he says. Your fear melts away as he undoes his own pants and pushes them down his body. A growl builds in your throat, but you force it away. Once Jack is sufficiently naked, you step closer, savoring the feel of the length of his body against yours. He kisses you.

"Turn around," he says. You obey instantly. He steers you towards the bed. "Kneel." Before you can do so, you feel his lips on your bruised shoulder. Then his teeth nip your skin cruelly. A wave of heat flashes over your skin. You cry out and fall to your hands and knees on the bed.

"Now, relax…" Jack hisses, his breath hot against your ear. He wraps his cool hands around your hips and you groan. For a moment you feel nothing, and then pressure.

Pain.

Sweet pleasure.

_Oblivion_.


End file.
